


Na Na Na

by Pixleplayer



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Implied Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Origin Stories, Short Stories, Withdrawal, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixleplayer/pseuds/Pixleplayer
Summary: A series of short tales about the fabulous killjoys, from meetings to nightmares to fun times.Sorry to anyone who enjoyed this but it will be left unfinished. As every chapter is a one shot it can still be enjoyed without an awkward ending!
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Jet Star/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. Drugs, gimmie drugs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I’m trying to do a writing challenge where at least once a day I write something based off this prompt list: https://ne0n-thunde1.tumblr.com/post/612403804063809536/deadpgasus-danger-days-by-my-chemical-romance
> 
> This is the series based of the Na Na Na lyrics.

They were still suffering from the withdrawal. The effects of the pills that the scientists of battery city put in for the sole reason of fucking you up the second you tried to deviate. It’s the second challenge most killjoys face. The first is surviving their first day.

Party had it worst. They had always been the loudest and the brightest, the biggest threat to their perfect world. They had the highest dosage they could give to someone so young- no older than 14. Kobra had always had the same fire, though he produced less noise and smoke to alarm their teachers and parents. They’d been free for a week. One week of sunburn and dehydration and uncontrollable shakes and cold sweat and running and falling and barely surviving. They were still in the clothes they had left home in, except from the boots and jacket they had torn from a bodybag, clinging to them like a ghost. It was midday, hiding out by a long dead tree- like it would help. Party- though they did not have that name yet- finally broke, the sun evaporating the last of his fight. Kobra had closed his eyes for a second, trying to encourage what little moisture he had to stop the burning feeling searing his eyes. Party’s head fell against him, breathing more shallow than ever. 

He screamed his throat hoarse before anyone came- he was always far skinnier than them, far far weaker. There was no way they could carry them. He was 12. They had run out of water yesterday.

A small crew, In the nicest brightest car Kobra had ever seen pulled up, their colours filling him with hope. The killjoys gave them food and water- brought party back. They only asked one thing from Kobra in return for letting them crash at their building until their shakes had died down.

Go to the market. Sell the mix of BLI and zone made drugs- give them the money, and accept the bonus of a few of them for him and his sibling. 

Kobra knew he should have taken their chances without.

If he hadn’t he would be able to hear the opening lyrics to that song without sending a prayer to the witch and a apology to party with a guilt that made his heart feel like it would stop.

Party doesn’t hold it against him.


	2. Hit the gas, kill em all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick take of jets origin

Jet- then known as slay- screamed the command to his battalion of dracs. There was a small camp on the dune they were fast approaching; a camp of killjoys. The enemy.

Within seconds the engines were roaring hungrily as they hurtled towards them, lasers turning the air thick with electricity from both sides. Jet shot two of them in the head with merciless precision. The dracs killed the other three with far less mercy. It took minutes- the fire they were huddled around for warmth under the stars undisturbed and still letting up whispers of smoke- like ghosts in snow.

They climbed out of the car, pulling 5 body bags out of the boot. They felt nothing as they stared at the corpses, putting them in the bag for later collection. Five corpses? Might be worth a hot chocolate when they got back.

The shuffle of dracs feet was the first indicator something was wrong. They finished zipping the bag before turning around, hand going to their sterile white gun. What they saw managed to ignite a shadow of emotion- fear they later learned to call it. 

The killjoys outnumbered the dracs. The killjoys were already firing, Lessing their numbers, filling their lungs with static. 

They ran ahed, barking the order to “KILL THEM ALL.” As drac after killjoy fell.

In the heat of the battle, body aching from the constant movement, it all went dark. No laser fire. No stars.

They felt water on their lips and sun on their skin. And saw three blurry figures above them.


	3. I’ll take what I want from your heart, and I’ll keep it

You suddenly wake up, twitching yourself upright, eyes darting around the old room, filled with random scraps of furniture. Your room. Breath. Inhale and know the smoke isn’t filling your lungs and threatening to strangle you in your sleep. The air is fresh and cold, freezing the sweat that plasters your hair to your forehead. 

Close your eyes. Remember they’re not really there, they’re ghosts in the past. Feel the warm calloused hand on your shoulder, nails bitten down in the tense moments between fights. Rest your hand on top and squeeze once. Open your eyes.

Kobra; same as every time you’ve woken up like this, eyebrows creased with worry and eyes half awake.  
“Same nightmare?”  
You nod. You nod and lean against him. You always feel smaller than normal when you’re with him, but so much safer.

He runs his free hand through your hair, the one on your shoulder wrapping around you. He opens his mouth to say the same words that always come.

“I know it’s going to be okay. I know it can’t hurt me. I Know it’s in the past. I can still feel them like a goddamn ghost who won’t stop haunting me and won’t let me fucking rest.” You cut him off. You know it comes off too sharp when you feel the sharp inhale and rigidness he only does when him and his sibling are arguing. You look up at him, the words already feeling like poison in your mouth.

“I’m sorry.” 

He relaxed a little “it’s okay. Don’t be.”

“I hate them....” you mumble after a pause 

Kobra holds you close, and lays down, pulling the blankets around the both of you.   
“You have every right to.”   
You hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“It feels wrong to hate the dead.”

“They took everything from you. It’s okay. We’ve all hated people for far far less.”

You just wrap your arms around him and mumble something that qualifies as a response.

At least you get to watch the sunrise that morning.


	4. Shut up and sing with me

The sun had been beating down on the car all day, the engine running as hot as they could let it.

The siblings had taken their normal seats- driver and shotgun, Kobra nodding his head along to the music blasting full volume out the radio, the blood and life of the desert, as party sung along, moving with the beat. Ghoul had the window down, yelling the lyrics loud enough for the whole desert to hear, Jet bouncing their leg enough for it to be felt through the body of the car with the pulse beat. 

These were the best days. The days where they ran errands for the doctor or just looked looked for something to do.   
The day’s killjoys longed for.

They drove through the midday heat, much in the same fashion as before, when they noticed what was clearly a temporary concert stage being put up on the horizon. Exactly what they had been looking for.

Ghouls eyes lit up. He had been fidgeting more in the past hour, getting restless and singing louder than before. Kobra had been rubbing his knees more- being sandwiched up in the car made him start to ache after a while. Jet had been looking more anxious, looking behind them more, as if one long drive without a fight was too good to be true.

It was a silent agreement to stop, a glance at each other, followed by smiles and cheers all around.

Party did a wide skid, throwing up a cloud of dust, before stopping. The sun was bound to set soon, and the joys were starting to gather. Mad gear concerts always did that. Word spread quicker than wildfire.

The air was full of chatter and booze and laughter and cigarettes, thick with electric energy and anticipation. Kobra stretched the second he was free, fun ghoul bouncing as Jet quickly scanned the area before letting a large grin sweep over their face. Party let out a whoop as they grabbed their moonshine then a locked their treasured car.

“Party time!” They flashed a wide grin and cracked open a can, chuckling at their own half assed joke.

Kobra just Rolled his eyes and got two cans, passing one to Ghoul, who took it and took a large drink. Just as Jet took their own can, cheers waved over the crowd.

Mad gear stood alone, smile as electric and bright as the air “KILLJOYS. SHUT UP AND SING WITH ME!”


	5. Keep your apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet comes clean about their past

It had been 3? 4? Weeks (time was hard to track out here, with comfortingly odd sleeping patterns and no clocks or calendars.) They deserve to know you aren’t the runaway they thought you were, fresh from the city.

You’re an exterminator dressed in killjoy clothes and acting like a killjoy.

You wake up, in the hour before sunrise where it’s *not* blisteringly hot and closest to battery city climate. That windows been smashed for as long as you’ve been here though. You should at least leave them with that fixed? A little gesture before you go back. Stop acting and pretending.

You take a few moments to escape the nest of blankets and pillows you call your bed. Somehow it’s more comfy than home. 

Grab your jacket, with the American flag and the bright patches that would land you in re-education. 

Last week ghoul tried to make a ramp for a skateboard he’d found, leaving a few scraps of plywood. Good enough for fixing a window out here. This is just a thank you for not shooting you were you lay in the sand.

You grab the hammer and start working, the hammer crash filling the silent sands. You manage to not hit your fingers, quite a feat given how your hands have been. You could ask why Ghoul seems to have perfectly steady hands. Not your place. A stranger, the enemy.

The sunrise is beautiful. It always is so full of colour, everything out here is. This is probably the last one you’ll see. You know your on the wrong side of this war. BLI brings nothing good. You also won’t be any good staying here. They won’t want you when they know.

You pick up the hammer again and walk in, seeing a scene that would usually make you smile. Kobra is sat on one of the old booths, faded plastic peeling and paint chapped, eating his morning can of powerpup. Party is sat cross legged on the table, grinning as they eat.   
“Dude! Did you finally fix that window? Pretty sure it’s been bust for years now”  
Ghoul walked over and pressed a can of pup into your hands, with his usual grin. 

You mumble something that barely qualifies as a response.  
“C’mon Jet. Gotta get eat fast. Leaving in 10 to catch the races!” No wonder party seemed to be in such a good mood- usually it was Ghoul sat on tables.

You take a deep breath.   
“Can.” Your voice catches, the way it’s only done when you’re afraid and since you got away from the city.”I haven’t been exactly truthful with you.”

They all look at you, surprised by the sudden serous tone.   
“Well spill.” Kobras glare is the harshest, his voice with its usual warmth.

All their eyes are on you, expectingly.

“That day you found me. In the dust.” Zone language clung to you as much as the sand. “I had started that fight. Commanded those dracs.”

The air seems to freeze, blood gushing louder than ever before.

Party glares at you, eyes cold and more like a predator; the look he gave in that one clap you had fought with them. They look hurt too.

The door to the back rooms clatters shut behind them. Then Kobra, who’s face you couldn’t read under the sunglasses, though you have no doubt it was like his brothers. Then ghoul.

And your alone again. Like always. Tomorrow your going to wake up in a white room and only have half memories. That’s if they don’t throw you into the prisons. You can hear the low mumble of voices from behind the door. 

You take in the battered diner you’ve called home, with the paint covering the walls of various ages and the sand and laughs and smiles.

You don’t know how long you’ve even been there when the door opens again, and the three of them fan out, the formation a little off without you there.

“You’re a killjoy. Right? Not a sellout.” Party talks, the words weighing down. You know your response is going to be the end of you.

You nod.

“Then keep your apology. You’re one of us.”


	6. Shut up and let me see your jazz hands

Every year in the zone 4 the Dr.D gets a makeshift stage made. He owns the largest library of pre-wars stuff in all the zones. He, by some miracle, has a script of the complete works of Shakespeare, only missing a few pages here and there. He knows the importance of music to the zones, but has found they all love a good show too. 

So, he tries to put one on whenever he can, pony and cherri make the set, there’s always killjoys looking to make some music too. He had a list of friends and people who have volunteered to be actors, and every year he picks a group at random. This year, it was the four’s turn. They’d drunkenly volunteered a while ago, a celebration after an errand almost ghosted them.

His broadcast went as usual, but before cutting to a record he made a quick announcement: “team 17. You’re time has come. Get over here.”

The four had been attempting to fix the hole ghoul had put in the roof earlier that day, messing with some device that had met an untimely end.   
“Team 17?...” Kobra looked at party “shit.”  
Party sighed. They’d almost finished patching up the hole, so the diner wouldn’t get flooded with sand the next time a storm swept over.   
Jet looked confused “isn’t that our number? We gave to the doctor?”  
Ghoul was grinning, wide and mischievous. “Finally!” He giggled “it’s our turn! Let’s go!” He hammered in the last nails and slid down the ladder.   
Kobra sighed and let go of the ladder. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

The sun was long down by the time they reached the station, which show pony was waiting outside of, usually without their helmet on. They had one hand on their hip “took you long enough. Nice to see you darlings.” They smiled and walked over as everyone got out of the car. 

After some quick greetings they headed in, the doctor holding the coveted scrips in his hand.   
“You ready to put on a show?”  
“You say as if you never heard of us? Course we are!” Party beamed, laughing with excitement a little now it had sunk in.  
“S’pose so.” Kobra was less enthused.  
“Which show are we doing?” Jet kept their excitement hidden in a way that sometimes seemed unnerving.  
“Macbeth, cherri is putting up the stage and pony was just going to go over and help. You think you could have the show ready for tomorrow night?”

The four exchanged looks, and gave a quick nod before party and ghoul smiled   
“Yeah. We’re going to put on the best show you ever seen!”


End file.
